Chuck Vs the Unknown
by KondisendingMonkey
Summary: Chuck and his team are sent to a top secret location in New York to retrieve a package that was hidden in a storage locker there many years ago. It's since been discovered by a rogue agency, but it's unclear what they're actually up against when Chuck uploads a whole new kind of Intersect!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

 **Hey there! :)**

 **So, I admit it has been a long time since I have written pretty much at all, but I hope this peaks your interest. Please review and don't be afraid to give some constructive criticism. I'm always open to suggestions! :D**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **CHUCK**

The three members of Team Bartowski stood at attention, their eyes glued to the screen before them with the stony face of General Diane Beckman staring back at them, her eyes small and beady as always while a straight line was etched into her face where her mouth should be. Even as she spoke, her voice stayed as steady as a brick house in a storm. The map to the left of her stern face had a red dot blinking in the heart of New York city, showing them exactly where they needed to go.

Beckman informed the team, "This is the storage locker of an old acquaintance of mine. It's the home of some of the most dangerous and important artifacts to makind, which is why it's been locked up for so long. In this facility is also a package whose contents are vital to the perpetuation of human existence, and recently I've caught wind that its location may have been compromised. Chuck, you and your team must infiltrate this storage facility and obtain that package before anyone else. I've sent the exact location to your GPS, so it should be easy for you to find."

"Wait a minute," Sarah piped up before Beckman could leave again. "What kind of package are we dealing with? Do you have anyone meeting us?"

"No," Beckman answered, "The contents are too sensitive for that."

"Uh..." Chuck cleared his throat. "General, if you don't mind me saying, this whole operation seems a little... unusual." He crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side as the trio examined their superior for just a few more moments.

The woman on screen may have seemed stern before, but now – as her brow lowered over her eyes and her lips pressed together, making her cheekbones stand out more than before – she seemed rather terrifying. Chuck couldn't help but shuffle his feet, glancing away uncomfortably as she told him, "To be completely honest with you, Agent Bartowski, it's really none of your concern. As long as you're able to retrieve it before the competition, everything will be fine."

Casey joined in now with, "Understood, Ma'am. We'll acquire the package by nineteen hundred tonight."

"Perfect," came Beckman's reply. "To the rest of you – particularly you, Chuck – if you open the package, I will know, and you will be punished. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Chuck and Sarah chimed together.

"Good." Beckman nodded. "Remember: nineteen hundred tonight, and this is a stealth mission, but if you encounter the opposition don't hold back. They're vicious adversaries and will stop at nothing to get to it." With that, the image fluttered before giving out, leaving only a black screen with faint reflections of the team staring back at them. When they were sure the General was gone, Chuck loosened his shoulders and rolled his neck, letting out a heavy sigh before turning to the other two.

"I guess we better get crackin', huh?"

"Uhn," Colonel Casey simply grunted in reply before he turned and headed straight for the armory, leaving no time to spare between when he left and when he returned only minutes later with two duffle bags stuffed with all the weapons they might need, guns and knives included. He dropped them down onto the table as he started to sort them by what he liked and what might be useful on a trip like this.

As he watched his teammates get ready – Sarah, stuffing knives anywhere they would fit while Casey did the same with guns – Chuck wrung his hands together and stepped over to the computer, where Beckman had sent all the information about the package. An image of a small black box was showing in the corner of the screen. It was almost ancient-looking, with strange markings all around it, including a strange pentagram on top in some kind of white ink. He blinked a few times, stared at it some more, and narrowed his eyes when nothing seemed to be coming up from the Intersect.

"Anything?" Sarah asked. She came over to lean down beside him, her long hair sweeping over Chuck's shoulder while her hands pressed down onto the table beside him. Chuck felt his brow raise when he caught a whiff of her sweet perfume, making his nostrils flare slightly. He managed to keep his eyes steady on the screen.

"Uh..." He shrugged, his mouth twisting to the side as he tried to think of the right words to say. "No, uh, no flashes on this one. I just don't get it. Why would Beckman send us after something like this? It looks so..."

"Archaic," Sarah offered when Chuck failed to deliver.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Archaic."

It was a new voice from behind which snapped Chuck out of his perfume fever, and apparently which pulled Sarah out of her lean and into a pose with her hip cocked and one hand on it. Casey growled, "It doesn't matter why she would send us after it. It's a box, it's important. It doesn't matter what kind of voodoo was done on it. We go in, we get it, we get out. Simple."

At this, Chuck stood straight and turned to face the man – just as a gun was shoved toward him. He pinched his brow just above the bridge of his nose before taking it and attaching it to a holster around his waist that the other two had given him. Still, he continued to ask Casey, "And you're not even curious about what's in the box?"

"No," replied the man – or rather, machine. "Now let's get going. Nineteen hundred hours, remember?"

As they left the base, Chuck couldn't help but glance back at the computer, where he removed a flash drive he'd entered into the computer to gather all of the information. It was currently about one o'clock PM, which gave them about seven hours to get to New York and get the box.

It was about six-thirty when they set down their jet on the landing pad at the New York base just outside of the city. The team was given a simple black sedan to get to their destination – something that Chuck was honestly a little disappointed with, considering the place they were there to see. Honestly, though, it was better than getting a little Nerd Herder to drive around in, not to mention the class involved. Actually, now that he thought about it, it wasn't so bad to get something simple and sleek like a little, black car. It was when he was halfway through his thought, though, that the window he found himself staring at rolled down and Sarah's head popped out, her mouth upturned into a subtle smile while her wide eyes looked up at him from under some loose strands of fine blond hair.

"Chuck," she addressed him. "Get in."

He let out a small, rather huffy laugh before grabbing the door handle and pulling it open and sitting down next to her, while Casey sat in the front to drive. "Yeah," Chuck breathed as he did up his seatbelt opposite from Sarah, "Right.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

 **Okay, so the second chapter came pretty quickly, and I may revise it a little later, but it was already halfway written by the time I posted the first chapter here. Woo!**

 **The third chapter may not come quite as quickly, but I'm going to start working on it asap. Thanks for reading! :D**

 **Again, feel free to offer some constructive criticism. :)**

* * *

 **CHUCK**

The storage locker was dingy at best. It had a single trap at the entrance, though all three of the spies managed to evade it with ease. They found the box in question with the same stealth: it sat atop the highest shelf at the back of the locker, the markings on it identical to the image Beckman had shown them.

Casey growled as he grabbed the box off of the shelf. He held it flat in his hands for a moment before tossing it over to Chuck – who caught it with fumbling hands and a shrill cry before clutching it close to his chest.

"Great. That was easy. There wasn't even anyone here." Chuck raised the box in front of his face so he could see it a little more clearly as they started back out the way they had come. No additional booby traps were springing up, the building stayed intact and the items all around didn't move. It was simple.

It was in the middle of stepping over the tripwire in the entrance that Sarah paused, put her hand out, and pulled back into the storage locker, with her arm pushing back against Chuck's chest to get him into the shadows behind one of the many shelves.

"Someone's here," she hissed. The woman reached to her thigh, grabbing a gun from its holster and cocking it before holding it down, barrel to the ground as she placed her finger in front of the trigger and waited. "It's probably the rival agents. Chuck, get ready to run."

Casey took five ghostly steps to the other end of the shelf, pressing himself against its side as he pulled the same move as Sarah had just a second ago: cocked a gun, held it down and ready. Chuck watched as both of them slowed their breathing, their eyes always alert as they waited for the intruder to come into sight. He, on the other hand, crouched behind Sarah armed with nothing except the supercomputer in his brain and a pair of trembling fists.

Seconds after the two super spies had readied themselves for combat and Chuck had almost convinced himself of the worst possible scenario happening very, very soon, a couple of guys walked in. They both wore sharp-looking black suits and ties over white shirts. Almost like the Men In Black. One of them was about five-ten with short blond hair, while the other towered over him with longer black hair that was slicked back. The pair of them stopped at the door, their heads swiveling as they stepped over the tripwire plainly, easily acknowledging it before entering into the dark room.

"What the hell? Someone's already here," the shorter one muttered. He reached behind his jacket where Chuck couldn't see to extract a gun. The man cocked it, pointed it down toward the floor just like Chuck's companions. They obviously had training. As the taller man did the same, he swiveled his head and stepped further into the locker, going right by Chuck and Sarah.

Both of them signaled to each other, using hand motions to dictate where they went. The taller one headed toward Sarah and Chuck, while the shorter one turned his back to them and raised his gun in the opposite direction.

As they moved to their respective destinations, Sarah and Casey spared no time: they glanced at each other and immediately seemed to have an understanding of what was going to happen, which transcended Chuck's tactical knowledge. Casey slipped deeper into the shadows to follow the small blond one.

Closer to the pair behind the shelf, as the tall one was just about to round the corner into their aisle, he stopped. His eyes landed on the people at his feet, though he didn't have a lot of time to register what was going on before she leaped up and sent a fist flying toward him. The man dodged easily, stepping to the side as he grabbed her fist and pulled her toward himself, wrapping his arm around her neck to get her into a choke hold.

As soon as he did this, Chuck's mind jolted. Everything in his vision went black for just a moment, while images of advanced mathematics flashed in his mind. His breath stopped for a second as it always did, but as soon as the images subsided he inhaled deeply, releasing it with a huff. Following this, Chuck spared no time talking to the man: he whipped out his tranquilizer gun and directed the barrel at the man's neck and – with perfect aim – pulled the trigger. The dart struck him in the jugular vein, pulling a deep grunt up from his gut as the impact jerked him back against the wall. The drowsiness that followed pulled him down to the floor. His arm loosed around Sarah's neck, falling to his side while his head rolled toward his shoulder.

At that moment a horrendous crash sounded on the other side of the storage locker, one which Chuck felt reverberating through his feet.

"Casey," Sarah breathed. Her eyes were wide as she started forward – but before she could take more than two steps she stopped and turned back to Chuck. She pointed at him with her free hand – the one not holding a gun – and ordered, "Stay here and watch him."

"Right," Chuck nodded and watched her go – though as soon as she left, his eyes were pulled back toward the sleeping giant. He had to be over six feet tall, maybe even six and a half, with caveman-like features (a heavy brow, square jaw) and thick, dark hair that fell down to his shoulders. Chuck couldn't help but be wary of him just popping up and declaring that he was "Just kidding!" before breaking Chuck's neck, thus rendering him useless.

He looked up from his potential adversary when he heard Sarah coming back, Casey behind her with the shorter man limp and slung over his shoulder like a heavy sac. Chuck's breath finally came back to him after a moment of doubt, and it was in that moment that he broke his gaze upon the giant to go to his team. He met them in the middle where they had come into the the locker, and raised his brows at Casey when he noticed the legs hanging down his chest, a pair of ankles tied together in his hands, while the rest of the body hung down his back.

"Uh, is he...?" Chuck began, but was stopped when Casey gruffly interrupted him.

"No, idiot. He's unconscious. You got the other one?"

"Well, yeah..." Chuck glanced back to where the other man lay against the wall, slumped over awkwardly. "But I can't carry him. He's huge."

"Here." Sarah walked over to the body, grabbing both his hands and pulling them together at his front and tying them together with a ziptie. She did the same with his feet. As she finished tying the man's limbs, she looked up at Chuck and jerked her head toward the man's top. "You take that half, and I'll take this half."

"What?" Chuck demanded, his eyes shooting open as he looked over his two partners. "Why? Why are we taking them?"

"They work for a rogue agency," Sarah told him, "One that we don't have much information about. I think it's pretty obvious why we're taking them."

"Bartowski!" came Casey's thunderous voice, cutting through the air like a knife through butter. "Shut up and move. We don't have much time before this wares off."

"Alright, alright!" Chuck went behind the large man, pushing him away from the wall before he went behind and snaked his hands beneath the large man's armpits while Sarah grabbed at his tied ankles. She hoisted his feet up near her elbows so that she would have some support – and even with both of them carrying him, the man's ass still dragged rather close to the floor.

As they exited the storehouse, Casey waited for Chuck and Sarah to get out of the way before he grabbed the locker's door and pulled down, slamming it shut and allowing it to lock automatically from the inside. From there, they headed back to their car and placed both men into the vehicle's deep trunk, putting the large one closer to the front and the shorter man curled up in his lap. Before they closed the trunk the team patted both of them down, and thus removed a couple knives and a gun from each, as well as their wallets on hand. As they stepped into the car and closed the doors with Casey and Sarah in the front, they tossed two wallets into Chuck's lap in the back.

"Let us know if you flash," Casey instructed.

As Chuck went through the wallets, he felt his brow furrow. His mouth turned down into a frown as he found himself staring at the image of the blond man, with a CIA badge logo next to his name: Bartholomew Casanova (which he mouthed silently, the frown still present as he tilted his head to the side). Also in his wallet was a credit card, which had the name Douglas Jones on the front in bright letters. The other, however, had a much different story: Andrew Smith also of the CIA, but his credit card read Jeremy Cuthbert.

"Uh..." Chuck stammered as he looked back up toward the front of the car. "Guys, I don't think they're spies. They have a different name on their credit cards as on their badges, and... really. I mean... Bartholomew Casanova? It sounds like something right out of a made-for-TV movie. A bad one."

"That's actually pretty normal," Sarah informed him. She looked back at him over her shoulder. "A lot of spies have multiple aliases, which they use interchangeably. It's all for their own safety."

Casey chimed in with, "If he wanted his name to be completely idiotic, that was up to him."

"Yeah, well, he did a good job." Chuck skimmed through their wallets once more, and rifled through the cash – about two or three hundred dollars' worth. "Y'know, I'm starting to think they might just be con men."

"Why's that?"

Chuck shrugged as he handed one of the wallets to Sarah, making sure the wads of cash were visible. She flipped through it as well, counting mentally before she looked back up at Chuck as he continued, "They have aliases on their credit cards and very possibly fake CIA badges, and... well, I mean, I didn't flash on either of them."

Casey's eyes switched from the road to the rear-view mirror so he could take a better look at Chuck. After a moment, he grunted. "Guess that means we caught a couple o' deadbeats." His teeth ground together as his irises went back toward the road, narrowing against the lights of an oncoming car in the opposite lane. "And here I was, really lookin' forward to smashin' in some skulls."

"Not necessarily," Sarah put in now. She turned back to Chuck, taking the other wallet from him as well. He watched as she flipped through both of their badges and credit cards. "Casey, you won't get to kill anyone either way, but they were in there for a reason. Clearly, they were looking for something – and they would have to have a really good reason to impersonate a federal agent. Besides, we still need to take them into custody; they'll get twenty-five to life for a stunt like that."

"Well, hey, look at that!" Chuck laughed lightly. He patted the back of Casey's seat, issuing a grunt from the man in front. "You might get to bash some heads in after all, big guy. Always gotta look on the bright side."

When they arrived at the CIA's private airport, the jet was prepped and ready for them. Sarah got the stewards to bring around a couple of gurneys, making the trip easier from the car to the plane. When they opened up the trunk both men were still out cold, though appeared to be cuddling with how Casey had placed them into the car. The bigger man – who would be formally known as Agent Smith until he woke – had his face squished into an awkward expression between his own weight and the back of the smaller man's head – who would hereby be known as Agent Casanova until he woke.

"Oh, look at that," Chuck remarked with a smirk, "They're so peaceful."

Casey scoffed as he pulled Casanova out of the trunk and once again draped him over his shoulder. He started on his way toward the jet, ignoring the gurney provided by the helpful agents of CIA Airlines.

Chuck watched as Sarah ducked under the hood of the trunk and reached one arm in to grab Smith's collar, pulling him closer so that she could pull him out. She tugged a few times before getting any leeway, and the man simply flopped forward with his tongue lolling out and his long hair bouncing in front of his face. It was completely inelegant. When he realized how slowly it was going, Chuck reached in to help, grabbing at the legs of Smith's pants to pull him forward – and after much tugging and struggling and fighting the moose's weight, they finally managed to get him out of the trunk and onto one of the gurneys, which they wheeled up to the plane and onto a moving ramp, which took them into the passenger compartment. There, they unloaded Smith in a different room from Casanova, hoping to question them when they woke.

In the meantime, Chuck and Sarah sat across from each other in the luxurious atmosphere of padded seats and calming colours. Two glasses of champagne were delivered onto a table between them, which they used to celebrate apprehending the package. In the main cabin with Casanova, they could hear Casey reporting their success to General Beckman.

Sarah took a sip of her champagne as she leaned back in her chair, her eyes grazing over the small box on the table between them.

After a moment of silence, Chuck mused, "I wonder what's actually in there."

"No peeking," Sarah reminded him, "Beckman must have a good reason not to tell us what's in this box. It's not our place to go behind her back."

Chuck held up his glass as he swallowed his last bit of the beverage. "Or," he offered, "She doesn't even know. Wouldn't it be responsible of us to take a look? I mean, what if it's a bomb?"

"It's not a bomb." Sarah provided this matter-of-factly. She raised a brow at Chuck. "And you need to stop. There is no way I'll be indulging in this with you."

Chuck sighed as he leaned back in his own seat, setting down his empty glass as he shrugged away the curiosity with a nonchalant air. "Fine. It's not a bomb. But, I mean... what if it just kind of... opened on its own?"

"What?" Sarah snapped at him.

Chuck brought his hands up with their palms out, facing her. "Relax, I'm not going to do anything. I just mean, what if it just kind of toppled off of the table – _randomly_ – and just kind of popped open?"

"That wouldn't happen," Sarah assured him, "Because if it did, there would be no more Chuck. And without a Chuck, there wouldn't be an Intersect. Now, wouldn't that be a shame for the whole country?" She leaned forward now, her blue eyes narrowing into daggers as she glowered at him. "At the risk of sounding like Casey... by opening this in any way, shape, or form, you are endangering the entirety of the United States of America."

Chuck shrugged as looked away from her, back toward the now squirming Agent Smith. "I wasn't going to do anything," he confirmed with her, "I was just saying, you know, words. And by the way, you did sound a lot like Casey there."

"You shut up." Sarah reached toward the box now and rested her hand on it, dragging it across the table toward her. "I'm taking th-"

"Dean?"

Both Chuck and Sarah blinked when they heard the word slip from the groggy Agent Smith. They watched as he rolled his head where he sat, his eyes blinking frantically as he tried to take in his surroundings. Both agents stared at him for a few moments as he tried to move his hand toward his head – and when he couldn't, his eyes popped fully open.

Only now did he see the two of them, with both sets of eyes glued to him and Sarah's hand still clutching the box as she pulled it toward herself. He stared at both of them with a tired gaze, frowning at them both.

"... Who are you?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Alright, so here is chapter 3! It doesn't feel that great, so I will probably fix it up a little later, but I really just wanted to get chapter three out for those following this story. :)**

 **Thanks, by the way.**

 **Alright, so here it is. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **SUPERNATURAL -** _ **SAM**_

" **Dean?"**

It took a moment for him to register what he was seeing, for his mind to sort out all the stimulants: the fluorescent lights; the distant sound of an engine, and wind whistling outside of thick windows. He looked down at his hands when he tried to touch his face and couldn't, and upon seeing that they were bound Sam felt his breath stolen from him. He looked up at the man and woman sitting across from him, next to each other.

It was a vague memory, but he recalled the man holding a gun to his face, shooting him... a tranquilizer. Sam blinked as he tried to clear his mind. He wanted to ask them so many things: if they'd caught his brother too, or if he was the only one they found in the locker... what the hell they were doing there... but for now, all he could muster was a simple question:

"...Who are you?"

The younger man stood to his feet, brushing off some invisible dirt from his white shirt and dark pants. He looked at Sam with a pair of wide, brown eyes and a goofy smile that came across sort of lopsided. He put a hand to his chest as he introduced himself, "I'm Agent Carmichael, and this-" He gestured to the blond woman next to him. "-This is Agent Walker. We're with the CIA."

"What?" Sam jerked at his bindings, a low sigh rumbling in his chest. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"We're not." Agent Walker released her hand from whatever she was holding as she turned toward Sam – though as soon as his eyes registered the box, he froze. The markings carved onto its surface were clearly holding in a spell. He cursed inwardly That was it – the box that his father's journal had referenced, the one he had worked on with Ash to protect all the information they had about all the hunters in the US, and all the creatures they faced. It was an endless supernatural database.

She continued, "Agent Smith, is it? We have a couple questions for you."

"Yeah? Like what?" Sam replied. He glanced back toward the thick braces around his wrists, holding him to the chair. He tried to think of how to get out of these things, but it wasn't as easy as it usually would be: they weren't just rope, they were leather straps holding him hostage; he didn't have any knives hidden in his sleeves either... shit. The only option he had now was to play along... and just hope that they hadn't caught his brother, too.

It was Carmichael who started the interrogation. He stepped forward and placed his hands into his pockets, shrugging calmly as he approached Sam. "Well first of all," he began, "What's your real name? We know you're not a CIA agent, Mr Smith. Neither is your partner."

Sam just furrowed his brow. He took a breath. "My partner?"

"Agent _Bartholomew Casanova_?" Agent Walker smirked. "He was with you when we picked you up."

Sam held back a sigh. _Goddammit, Dean..._ He'd told him to pick a more believable name, but absolutely not – he had to be an ass, no matter what. The man looked between the two agents now, still trying to get his bearings as he tried to think of the best course of action - and realized he had three options: one, he could play along; two, tell them the truth; or three, somehow get out of these binds and escape to find his brother. However, since telling the truth was very rarely a good option and he really had no way to get out of the seat without one of these two noticing and tranquilizing him again, he really only had one choice. He had to play along, pretend to be who his badge said he was.

Sam inhaled deeply now and leaned his head back toward the seat. "Yeah, we're partners. We are with the CIA, by the way. You could even call my supervisor to confirm. I have my phone in my pocket and his number on speed dial."

Agent Carmichael raised a brow. "Alright, well maybe we will when we're not in an aircraft fifty thousand feet above ground. In the meantime, why don't you tell us what you were doing at that storage locker?"

Sam swallowed. He recalled the story he and Dean had fabricated beforehand, just in case something like this happened. He began, "We were sent to investigate an issue of national security there. There was an item that needed to be retrieved as per my superior's orders."

"And what was it?"

"I don't know," Sam told him, though his eyes drifted toward the box on the table, behind Agent Walker. "But he said it was dangerous."

Walker shifted behind Carmichael. Her hand pressed onto the table to hoist herself up as her partner went to sit back down. Soon, she sat herself in the chair across from Sam, her eyes narrowing as she leaned forward and put her hands on her legs. "You keep looking at that box over there, Agent Smith," she mentioned, "And I'm starting to get a feeling that you know more than you're telling us."

He felt his nostrils flare and his cheeks heated to a new degree, but Sam maintained a calm air as he took a deep, quiet breath. "Well, I don't. Look, just let me contact my supervisor. He'll clear all of this up."

"Really?" Carmichael insisted, "Look, Mr Smith, I hate to burst your bubble here, but we know for a fact that you're not in the CIA. You're not anywhere in the database – we already checked before you woke up. We have your wallets, remember?" He sat on the chair beside Sam, leaning away as he waved two wallets before him – Sam's own, and Dean's brown leather one.

Sam looked between the two of them for a few moments, and then demanded, "Well, maybe I'll be a little more cooperative when I'm not tied down to a chair. And I want to see Casanova."

Carmichael smirked lightly. "It's a good movie."

Walker rolled her eyes at him, showing little to no restraint as she scolded him, "Chuck. Not the time."

The man responded by raising his hands in defense. "I'm done."

Walker looked back at Sam now, her eyes narrowing lightly. "Mr Smith, I don't want you to take it personally, but we can't risk doing that."

"Agent Walker..." Sam leaned forward as far as he could in his seat, his long hair bobbing with his movement to frame his face. "If I can't see my partner, you're not getting anyth-"

" _Gaaahhh! Mother-fffreakin' Theresa!"_

The scream came from the other room, interrupting Sam halfway through his sentence. His eyes immediately shot toward the door linking their room to the next, and with all of his strength he kept his mouth shut before he could call out for his brother. Instead, Sam put his efforts into staring down the blonde agent in front of him, watching as her eyes narrowed and the corners of her lips curled into a soft, mocking smile.

She knew. She knew his look of determination, that familiarity that came with hearing one he cared for crying out in pain.

"You..." Sam growled. He went to kick himself up from the chair – watching as Carmichael leaped back a foot as he did – but Sam failed to get his hands free. He only ended up bringing the chair up an inch and slamming it back down. This motion shook the floor beneath his feet, sending vibrations out from beneath him.

Carmichael paled when he felt the reverberations. His hand pressed against the table to steady him, while his wide eyes took in all of Sam's rather large frame. The guy probably thought he was a giant, considering the seven inch difference between them (maybe a little more).

"Relax, Agent," Walker instructed the skinny guy with a wave of her hand. She leaned closer to Sam, who in turn furrowed his brow deeper and pressed his lips together to form a dark scowl. She placed her hands on either side of the chair by Sam's legs and said in a soft, confident voice, "He can't do anything. This guy is useless to his partner until he tells us who he is and what he's doing with a couple of fraudulent CIA badges."

Another cry sounded from the alternate room, this time coupled with a rough grunt and a thud as something heavy hit the ground. This was followed quickly by a set of footsteps Sam recognized all too well. Without saying a word, his face muscles loosened and instead of the frown he had before, his lips now formed a slight smile as he looked the woman and her partner over.

Agent Walker's eyes immediately acquired a new shadow as she stood from her post and grabbed at a holster by her waist. She all but ran to the door, making sure Agent Carmichael stayed behind her. She snapped at him, "Chuck, stay here and watch him. Casey's down."

"What? How do you know?" Carmichael demanded with a swift glance between Walker and Sam.

"I just do." Walker cocked her gun and, after shooting one more meaningful look at the prisoner, she grabbed at the door handle and whipped it open. No sooner than this, something hard and long swung from the other side of the frame and slammed the Agent in the head, sending her at least two feet back into the room. She barely had time to grunt as she hit the floor, but a cry - " _Sarah!_ " - did come from the man standing at the table, where the curse box still sat unopened.

A second later, Dean stepped through the doorway with the wooden bat's neck in one hand, while the head twirled around at his side. He let it land with a dull thump into the palm of his hand. As he did this, Sam's eyes landed on a small mark on his inner forearm, about the same shape and size as the end of a cigarette, with charred skin all around the shallow pink wound. Dean looked at Agent Carmichael, whose eyes had grown wide as he moved further away from Sam and his brother – though his hand stayed firm on the box.

Dean grinned. "Hey, slugger." He continued to beat the bat against his open palm. "Look, man, I ain't here to kill you. I know you were just doin' your job and I'm not gonna punish you for that. I just need my brother back, alright?"

"Dean!" Sam hissed. "The box."

The man flashed a look at him, one eyebrow raised – and then took his attention back to the Agent. "Right. And the box. We need that."

Carmichael took a moment. He looked at the bat, and then at Dean in silence for a moment before he froze. His eyes stayed glued on the older Winchester for about half a second before he blurted out, "Oh, this?" while lifting the box into the air by its lid. "You need _this_ box?"

"I don't see another box," Dean mocked with the same sideways smirk that came to his face frequently. It made Sam want to punch him. "Sammy, do you see another box?"

"I don't see another box," Sam repeated, though released a huff at himself when he realized he was mirroring his older brother. "Dean, just get the damn thing."

With that, Dean leaped forward. He swung the bat with obvious intent to knock the guy out, but Carmichael seemed know exactly where he would be coming from and when as soon as the older Winchester even hinted at moving. As Dean swung from the left, the Agent would move to the right; as he swung from the right, Carmichael would dance behind Dean and make him turn around and attack from another angle. Finally, when the bat came down from above, aiming for Carmichael's head, her looked up and – in a single instant – whirled out of the way and danced around his assailant.

This time, however, he was ready for it: Dean spun on the balls of his feet and just as Agent Carmichael was coming around on his other side, he swung the bat with all his strength toward him. It went straight for his jaw – but missed by a hair as Carmichael bent backwards under it, letting the momentum he already had carry him into a limbo under the bat and onto his knees. As he went to the ground, Agent Carmichael used the same arm he had carrying the box to steady his balance. He pushed his hand and the box into the air above his head – just in time for Dean's swing to be passing by, to swat it out of Carmichael's palm and into the air.

The artifact hit the wall of the plane with a sound deeper and heavier than it should have before it clattered to the ground. The impact left the plane around them reverberating, and in the side of the box where it had been smashed away by the bat was a tiny fracture running along where the lid was locked firmly to the base of the box.

"Oh... crap..." came Dean's soft voice, almost that of a whisper.

Sam breathed out, his heart skipping several beats as he stared at the almost invisible-

 _CRACK!_

The hard material of the box split further in a single moment, letting out a ray of dull purple light that grabbed at the ceiling above it. Dean swore heavily as he turned to look at Sam, now heading straight toward his brother. He tossed the bat aside as he instead grabbed a knife from inside his sleeve and began working at Sam's bindings, while Carmichael simply watched them for a couple seconds.

"Dean," Sam breathed, "We gotta get these people outta here. Did you call Cas?"

"Yeah, a couple times before I came in here," his brother replied in equally hushed tones. "If he ain't here yet, he probably ain't comin'. So we gotta get these guys out of here ourselves."

Sam cursed under his breath. "Dean, if that thing blows, we'll have more on our hands than-" It was what he took in behind his brother that made him stop short. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, letting out a cry as he caught sight of Agent Carmichael grabbing at the box with his bare hand.

Before Sam could call out to him, Carmichael's arm lit up with the same eerie purple light that reached out through the crack. Symbols formed along his forearm, snaking up to his elbow like a self-printing tattoo of ancient symbols and letters. The light wrapped him up in its strange embrace, dragging him closer and closer toward the light – and as his face neared the crack in the box, Sam could see the letters reflecting on Agent Carmichael's irises, etching themselves into his brain like a chisel on a stone tablet. This image lasted for no more than a couple seconds before the light once again disappeared and they were left with a simple, cracked black box.

When Dean turned around he was too late. It was just in time to see Carmichael fall unconscious, his body dropping on top of the plain box after releasing what sounded like his last breath.

"Oh, God." The hunter tore himself away from Sam now, after cutting him free, and dropped to his knees beside the lifeless sap. "Agent!" He grabbed at Carmichael's shoulders, turning him upright onto his back and pushing him away from the box. He glanced back at Sam – who now stood in front of the chair – and back to the victim. "Agent!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey! Thanks for waiting, and I hope this chapter is alright for now. :D**

 **In case anyone didn't know, I don't own anything of Supernatural or Chuck, and hopefully will have the next chapter out soon. Again, don't be afraid to comment with... anything, I guess. Constructive criticism if you feel like it. :3**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **SUPERNATURAL - SAM**

Sam swallowed hard. His chest felt heavy as he watched his brother shake the agent, but with no effect. It was only when he felt wind on the back of his neck that Sam turned away from the scene, to see Castiel finally arriving. The Angel's eyes landed on him first, then on the scene before them with Dean kneeling over the affected federal agent, his female partner laying unconscious by the door. It took him a moment to gauge the atmosphere.

"What happened?" he asked simply after a few moments of silence.

"The box..." Sam pushed his hair back away from his face. "It broke."

"What?"

Dean turned and stood to face the Angel, his eyes still wide. As if to drive the point home he repeated, " _The box broke_ , Cas – and I'm pretty sure _this guy_ has the information inside. Now what are we gonna do?" Dean turned away from the slumped agent and kicked his foot out into the wall of the plane.

"Well," Castiel said pensively, a shrug taking over his shoulders. He looked between the brothers and then back to the broken box, and the man laying beside it. "We could always bring him with us."

"What?" Sam demanded, "He's probably dead. I'm sure Dad would have put a protective spell on the contents just in case something like this happened."

Castiel shook his head as he looked over the slumped agent. "No, he is definitely alive. I'm not sure how, but he survived – if there is a spell like that attached to it at all." The Angel looked between the two brothers now, and then at the now-stirring woman who lay sprawled out next to the door. He beckoned the two of them forward. "She's waking up. We need to do something quickly."

Dean swore under his breath. He shook his head, then brushed his hair back with a sigh. He looked over at Sam, then down again at the unconscious man. After a moment, he concluded: "Alright. Let's go."

With that, the hunter bent down and lifted the guy up to sling him over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around the stranger's legs to keep him steady. When he and Sam approached Castiel, the Angel touched both of them on their shoulders and took them away, off the plane and back to New York.

It was a great deal later, and the Winchesters, along with Castiel, stood around the Impala with a map spread out between them on its hood.

"Alright," Dean began, "So what are we looking for here?"

Castiel answered, "Any signs of chaos around the United States, I would imagine."

This got him a pretty grisly look from Dean, who just shook his head and grumbled, "No shit, Sherlock. It's Eris we're looking for – Greek Goddess of chaos. If she ain't stirrin' up somethin', then we're in worse than we thought."

"What about Hollywood?" A short silence came between the three of them after this suggestion, with both brothers staring at Castiel, who had made the suggestion. He just shrugged, however, and continued, "I believe that is where most people make gestures of grandeur for attention. Am I correct?"

"Isn't that a bit obvious, Cas?" Dean countered. He leaned heavily on the driver-side rear door of the car, crossing his arms on top of the map as he looked over at the Angel. "I thought she was trying to hide from us, not put herself in the open."

Sam shook his head. "No, it makes sense. I don't think she's trying to hide from us..."

Dean scoffed. "What? Dude! As soon as we had a chance to ice her, the chick pulled a Houdini and wiped all the info about her from the internet. I think that's a good sign she doesn't want us to find 'er."

Sam shook his head, closing his eyes for a few moments before turning back to his brother. "I don't think that's right, though... I mean, she did do all that, but it feels different. You know?"

"Not really," Dean said, "Unless she's tryinna take us on a wild goose chase, I don't see the da-" He looked down as he was suddenly interrupted by a soft _thud_ and a grunt from inside the car, followed by a low whine. Then, a jingle of handcuffs as the prisoner brought his hands to his head. Dean rolled his eyes and glanced at Cas, jerking his head to the side. Immediately, the Angel nodded his understanding and in a split second he was gone.

The Winchesters bent down now to look inside the windows of the back seat of the Impala, watching as the boy with the curly hair and the nerdy demeanor looked at the cuffs around his wrists with a face of deep disdain. When he looked up and saw their faces, though, he released a low huff and jumped – groaning again when he bumped his head a second time on the low ceiling.

"Hey, watch it," Dean snapped. "This baby's a classic."

"Uh... I..." The man looked around now, his eyes wide as he took in the appearance around himself: the car, the desert... a road...? "I was... in a plane..."

"And now you're not," Dean added helpfully.

Sam raised a brow at his brother, smirking slightly as he looked at the man between them. "Look, we're not going to hurt you. And you were right, we're not CIA agents – I'm Sam, and this is my brother, Dean."

"Wha...?" Again, the man's eyes went to the cuffs on his wrists – and then he sent a blank, mildly worried look between the two brothers. "You're brothers? Wait, how did I get here? I was on a plane!"

"That doesn't matter now," Dean interrupted him, "We need you to stay focused. Can you do that, Fed?"

"What?" Chuck whipped his head between them again. "No, I can't stay focused! How did I get here? Where are my partners?"

Dean rolled his eyes. He glanced over at his brother on the other side of the car, who just shrugged and sighed deeply. Sam jerked his head upward and stood, leading Dean to do the same. Once they were both relatively out of earshot Sam whispered:

"Maybe we should give him some time. He seems kinda... traumatized."

"Of course he is," Dean retorted, "But that doesn't mean anything. You think we should stop just in case we hurt his feelings more? No. We don't have time for that mushy stuff, Sammy. Eris is-"

"Waiting for us," Sam quickly cut him off. "She won't do anything too drastic until she knows we've found her for sure. Trust me, Dean. She isn't in hiding – she's challenging us."

Dean rolled his eyes, slapping his hands onto the map on the hood of the Impala. "And how the hell do you know that?"

"She doesn't like simple games," Sam said, "She's playing with us, just like she played with the goddesses with the golden apple. Remember that story?"

Dean sighed heavily. "Yeah. I-"

Once again, though, he was interrupted by a yelp in the car. The brothers bent down immediately to see what was going on, and saw Chuck leaning over with his hands gripping his temples, his teeth grinding together as he clenched his eyes shut. "Augh!" he groaned – and a moment later he pushed himself into the back of his seat, his eyes staring straight up at the hood while his chest heaved. His eyes were wide, his face stark white. He dropped his hands down by his sides as a flurry of words escaped his mouth, so fast they could barely be understood:

"Eris, the Greek Goddess of Chaos: she wasn't invited to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis because of her reputation as being a goddess of discord, so she gave them a golden apple that had the words _to the prettiest one_ inscribed on it. Athena, Hera and Aphrodite got to it and wanted Zeus to tell them which of the was the prettiest, but he declined, so they went to Paris and asked him to tell them. Aphrodite offered him the most beautiful woman on Earth if he promised to agree it was her, and chaos ensued—oh my God, _that_ is not in the CIA database." Chuck leaned back and took a deep breath, though it sounded like more of a struggle than necessary. "What did you do to me?!"

A moment of silence followed this until Dean let out a loud swear and Sam moved to the front passenger seat, getting in so that he could be on an equal level with the agent. He leaned over the back of the seat and put one hand up peacefully, palm facing the man.

"Look," he began, "We honestly didn't do anything to you. That box you had – it had some pretty important information in there, stuff we can't let just anyone have. We stick by what we said before: we're not going to hurt you, but we need you to cooperate."

"Cooperate?" Chuck demanded. "With what? And... what kind of information? God, the more you talk the less sense this is making."

Dean sat in the driver's seat now and turned to face the guy as he closed the door behind himself. He turned around to rest one elbow over the back of the front seat so he could see their hostage a little more clearly. "Yeah, and it's not going to make sense," he assured him. "None of it is – so why don't you just sit back and enjoy the ride, alright? Sammy here will take care of your emotional needs, and I'll just get you where you need to go."

"Sammy?" the hostage repeated, clearly confused as he looked the other Winchester over.

"Sam," the younger brother corrected him. "Just Sam." He adjusted himself further in his seat. "Alright, look. Dean and I – we're not CIA agents. We're just two hunters."

The man looked down at his handcuffs. "Oh God..."

"No, no," Sam quickly interrupted him. "Not like that... we, uh..." He rolled his eyes. "We hunt... ghosts... werewolves... supernatural beings. That kind of thing – not people."

The hostage's eyes dulled. His expression of fear took on a new kind of understanding as he looked between them one more time, his eyes widening as he tried to push himself further back into the seat. "Ghosts..." he repeated quietly, "Werewolves... oh my God."

"Sometimes those too," Deam added with a smirk. "And hey man, don't be sexist. We look out for the ladies too. Goddesses can be just as feisty."

"You're..." He just shook his head slowly, closed his eyes after a moment as he sunk into the seat in the back of the car, his locked hands dropping carelessly into his lap. "You're crazy. I've been kidnapped by two crazy people. Do they think I'm a ghost? I don't know. Do they think I'm a vampire? Or a god?"

"We're still right here, ya know," Dean snapped as he turned around again to face the road. "And we're not crazy. You just don't believe in this – so maybe you're actually the crazy one."

"No," Chuck laughed lighly, "No, I'm definitely not. I've been kidnapped and mysteriously removed from my plane by two crazy people. And they probably thought Casey and Sarah were werewolves. That makes sense, right? That makes perf-" A deep breath came from the back again, Sam's eyes widened as he saw the man pause for a hair of a second. Then, when he was shot back into reality a rambling was dragged from his mouth in one breathless chunk: " _Rip the heart out and eat it; gruesome animal attacks in the northern and central states once a month around the time of the full moon; silver bullets; silver knives; silver stakes._ " Finally, he stopped and gripped his head again. "Oh, God that hurts way more than the Intersect."

"Intersect?" Sam repeated with a raised eyebrow. "What is that?"

"Nothing," Chuck instantly blurted, "Nothing. It's nothing. What did you do with my partners?"

"Nothing," Sam assured him, "They're fine. They're still on the plane, even; they'll land in... wherever you were taking us with no problems."

"Except that they'll be looking for you," Dean added, "Which, you know, they won't succeed at."

"Wait..." Chuck let out a low laugh. "You... jumped out of a moving plane with me? I don't... get it. They would've died if you did that."

Sam shook his head. "No, we had an Angel of the Lord remove us from the plane – with you – and take us back to our car. That's why they're all still fine."

Chuck winced as he felt another burst of information entering his head, clenching his jaw tight as he lowered his head into his hands. When it finished, he took a deep breath and once again leaned against the back of the seat in the car. He groaned, "I need this to stop. Is there a way to make it stop?"

"It's a spell," Sam told him, "Well – technically, it's information that was put onto a chip and then put into a box, and then charmed so that it would only be accessible to certain people. I guess, for some reason, you were one of those people."

"Unless it's actually cursed," Dean added, "In which case you'll probably be dead soon. The journal wasn't all that clear." After a moment of watching the hostage's face drop in mild horror, Dean nodded and got out of the car, grabbing the map and handing it to his brother before he started the engine.

"Welp. Guess we should get going then. Hollywood, right?"


End file.
